


Indulgences

by Snubberdoodle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale being a horny sinful bastard, Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 04:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snubberdoodle/pseuds/Snubberdoodle
Summary: An angel's journey into the seven deadly sins and a demon's trip through the seven heavenly virtues. Strange times indeed.





	Indulgences

Angels, by their very nature, ought to be utterly incapable of sin. According to the official records, all those who have managed to do so aren't quite angels anymore so one would think that those who remain in Heaven wouldn’t really be too fond of the things. While this was generally true of the acts themselves as extensive sinning could find an angel searching for new job openings down in Hell, even archangels find it particularly difficult to police the mind*. It isn’t all that unusual for an angel to conjure up thoughts of gluttony, lust, etc. and while some of the more devout attempted to smite these ideas from their holy minds others instead chose to entertain them. This was all right, they would tell themselves, because it was most certainly better than acting them out. Every angel is guilty of these thoughts to some degree or another, but few are guilty of the acts themselves and of those who have had the audacity to stoop so low none have stooped lower than Aziraphale.

*Which isn’t to say they haven’t tried.

No matter how he tried to justify it, the truth was that he sinned more than any other angel on the market. He’d been against it at the start, as all good angels tend to be, but as the years went on he began to catch himself slipping. It was little things at first; a few too many oysters here and a small bit of thievery there, but, of course, these little things began to add up. Envy he had indulged in the least. He was only ever really envious of Crowley’s ceaseless optimism, although there were a few stubborn owners of mint condition first editions that he was rather jealous of. Sloth was just a step up from envy as he had found it increasingly unable to justify his not infrequent spells of superfluous rest and relaxation as anything else*. Wrath was just a bit higher up on the list if silent fuming and the occasional “murder” of prying mafia members counted as wrath.** The next two were essentially tied as they went hand in hand. He was wickedly proud of his books and he held onto them greedily, keeping them in tip top shape over the centuries. Neither pride nor greed really manifested in any other aspect of the angel’s life but they didn’t need to. They were doing enough damage already. Gluttony filled the second largest slice on the angel’s personal pie chart of sin. His overindulgence in food and drink was something of a behind his back talking point in Heaven as his excuses of engaging in those activities for the sake of blending in hadn’t really been believed in centuries.

*That is to say, he couldn’t justify them to himself. He hadn’t had too much of an issue making up a justification for Heaven when his superiors raised an eyebrow.

**They did.

That left only one of The Big Seven. The biggest of the seven in his case. More than anything else, Aziraphale was lustful. Now, contrary to popular belief, lust doesn’t necessarily have to manifest itself as anything sexual. It is entirely possible to lust after money or power just as much as physical pleasures. To say that lust was his most egregious offense could simply mean that he had rather strong feelings towards the collection in his bookshop. It could mean this, but it most certainly did not.

Aziraphale had been lusting after men for as long as he could remember, not that he would ever willingly call it that of course. He would say he ‘desired intimacy with’ or ‘made love to’ or some other, kinder human expression. For what he was doing these terms could only be described as outright lies. He had been lying with men for just a little over 3000 years now* and had somehow managed to get away with nothing more than a strongly worded letter. These lustful excursions could be explained away with far too much ease as something to do with love, but sometime in the last century or so he had run into a problem. This problem had dark red hair that was always perfectly styled and had a tendency to hiss when drunk or irritated. This problem drove a vintage** Bentley and had been at his side since the beginning. This problem was a great many things but none of them were the problem. The problem with Crowley wasn’t that Aziraphale loved him in a million little ways for a million different reasons, the problem with him was that he was a demon. A demon who Aziraphale, sometime in the last century or so, had begun to lust after.

*That is to say he would do so when he could manage it without any particularly nasty social repercussions. He had stopped doing this sometime during the 19th century since this was around the time the general public really started to crack down on that sort of thing.

**The word vintage didn’t really mean anything to Aziraphale as he considered anything made in the last two centuries to be brand new.

It wasn’t really his fault*, he would tell himself. It was Crowley’s. It was Crowley’s fault in the way his hips swayed from side to side as he walked, slithering around withering bookshelves and well-worn coffee tables as he had slithered through the bushes of Eden all those millennia ago. It was Crowley’s fault in the clothes he wore; flashy, obnoxious, trendy things that begged to be stripped off his exquisite body. It was Crowley’s fault in the way he would tilt his sunglasses down just low enough and curl his lips into a grin that made Aziraphale’s heart swell, snake’s eyes glimmering with something far more tender despite his best efforts. It was Crowley’s fault in the way that he would kiss Aziraphale on the back of the hand whenever he could get away with it, looking up at him with that same profoundly tender look in his eyes. It was absolutely Crowley’s fault that Aziraphale would see him in these and so many more wonderfully intimate moments and want to finally, after centuries of holding himself back, lift the demon into the air and kiss him with enough force to level a mountain. It was Crowley’s fault that, at least recently, Aziraphale couldn’t seem to look at him without really wanting to make an effort.

*While it isn’t entirely fair to place definitive blame on one person or the other in regards to the development of feelings, romantic or otherwise, and it is even less fair in this case since the demon had most certainly been in love with the angel for far longer than the reverse, it was absolutely Aziraphale’s fault.

And on some nights, when he was some combination of particularly lonely and particularly drunk, Aziraphale would imagine the two of them seated very cozily together on one of his more comfortable armchairs. How they would get to this point was never really addressed but they would always end up in the same position: with Crowley perched elegantly atop his effort. He would roll his hips down onto it, looking down at the angel, his angel, unbuttoned dress shirt hanging off his slender shoulders and stylish hair in a flurried mess, with his thin back curved like an adder preparing to strike. He would hiss with pleasure when Aziraphale gripped his bony hips and fucked him properly, falling to pieces under the angels silken fingers until he came with a cry of his lover’s name; a cry oozing with 6000 years of unspoken adoration. And Aziraphale would adore him right back, kissing him feverishly through his own orgasm until they were left exhausted but content in each other's arms.

This wasn’t all he had locked away in mind’s sinful little lockbox, however. Not by a long shot. Other nights he would imagine the demon laying him down on the unused tartan quilt and many dusty pillows that covered the bed in what was meant to be his bedroom, stripping him of his many layers with patience and care, and indulging in him in much the same way one indulged in a nice creme brulee or chocolate truffle. His tongue, that wicked serpent’s tongue, would taste every inch of him it could reach, every curve and crevice, until the angel grabbed a fistful of his hair and less than elegantly dragged him onto his cock. The demon would lick and suck him as no other being could, his hands grabbing gentle hold of pudgy thighs as his head slid elegantly back and forth. In these fantasies it was Aziraphale who cried out Crowley’s name, moaning obscenities that made the man between his legs shiver. He would grasp at his lover’s hair like a lifeline and wail like a widow until he came in spurts either down the demon’s throat or, on some nights, across his face.

Every way he could possibly have Crowley and every way Crowley could possibly have him had been thought up and entertained to the point where he had a different fantasy for every day of the year. This was alright, he would tell himself, because they were just thoughts. Heaven couldn’t do anything about him thinking those things about a demon but Someone help him if he actually did any of them. He’d probably be burned to ash. Or be made to fall, if he was lucky. He didn’t know exactly what would happen but he was sure it would be something unpleasant. Or at least he had been sure. He had feared retribution from Heaven for so long that he hadn’t even stopped to consider if they would actually do anything about it. He was supposed to avoid Crowley and the others because they were the enemy and you don’t want to step onto the battlefield of Armageddon having made friends with your enemy. But Armageddon hadn’t happened. It had been a massive flop and Aziraphale hadn’t heard a peep from Heaven since. Armageddon hadn’t happened and Heaven was silent and Crowley had begun to look at him just a little differently, let his touches linger for just a little longer, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to hold himself back.

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's first multi-chapter fic fellas! I'm nervous but hopefully it all ends up okay. I do write very slowly so apologies in advance for that. Go pester me to write on tumblr @goodvibesgoodomens n' maybe it'll help. But yeah I hope you like this so far :D Comments and criticisms are welcome as always, catch you on the flipside. EDIT- no it isn't lol this is all u get


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